


flowers will bloom

by allegrolines



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6394342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegrolines/pseuds/allegrolines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a cluster of velvety-looking purple flowers he remembers from his childhood home, tucked among other plants unknown to him. A memory comes and goes quickly—his mom’s soft voice and the smell of her cooking, the little violet on the kitchen windowsill—and then Howon takes a deep breath, walks away with a last glance at the empty storefront.</p>
            </blockquote>





	flowers will bloom

Howon always walks the few blocks between his bus stop and the company building, following the same path every day. He’s more than familiar with the stores and most of the people in the neighborhood; it’s a quiet area, after all, and no one moves around that much—nothing has really changed since he got his current job, almost two years ago. It’s reassuring in a way the city isn’t sometimes, like a misplaced piece of his hometown.

He’s surprised, then, when he finds the sidewalk partially blocked by two piles of big plastic crates one early morning, stacked high in front of a shop that Howon’s never seen open before. The windows are still painted over but the gate is up, and Howon slows his steps as he gets closer. Small green leaves peek out from the sides of the crates, swaying gently in the morning breeze. He stops so he can take a better look at them.

“We’re closed until next week, sir,” someone says suddenly. 

Howon starts, almost dropping his briefcase. When he turns around there’s a young guy staring at him, his eyes big and curious. His long bangs fall sideways over his face, and he’s wearing a black apron, dark gray pants tucked into rubber boots, and a pair of mustard-colored gloves. He raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Sorry,” Howon says automatically, even though he isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for. “This place’s been closed forever.”

“Well, yes,” the guy—boy? He looks like he’s just out of highschool—replies. He sounds mildly exasperated, like he’s barely holding back an eyeroll. “We’re opening very soon, though. You should come back then, sir,” he adds with an overly sweet, toothy smile.

Howon is about to protest against the formality—no matter their age difference, he feels he’s way too young to be called ‘sir’—when there’s a loud crash coming from inside the store, and both he and the guy grimace at the same time.

“Sungjong-ah!” a voice calls a moment later, urgent and strained. 

“I have to go,” the guy—Sungjong—says in a rush while bowing to Howon, his attention already focused on whoever is inside. “Don’t forget to visit us, sir!” he insists one last time before disappearing through the door. “Next week!”

Howon turns to the crates again. There’s a cluster of velvety-looking purple flowers he remembers from his childhood home, tucked among other plants unknown to him. A memory comes and goes quickly—his mom’s soft voice and the smell of her cooking, the little violet on the kitchen windowsill—and then Howon takes a deep breath, walks away with a last glance at the empty storefront.

 

\---

 

The store opens the following week, just as Sungjong had said, greeting the neighborhood with its red and white awning and a jungle of plants at the other side of the window. Howon gets tangled up with work just around the same time, what with upcoming deadlines and an extra project he accepted at the very last minute. Whoever runs the flower shop seems to work long hours, too—Howon always sees the lights switched on inside, no matter how early or how late it is when he walks by. He finds it comforting, somehow, the soft glow of the store spilling over the sidewalk after he’s spent hours sketching and going through data on his computer.

The first time Howon actually goes into the store is almost three weeks later, after he gets a text from Eunji that’s mostly a long, disjointed string of curses. Howon races there from the office, his shoes slipping on the patches of half melted snow left on the damp pavement. He yanks the door open too hard, banging his elbow against the jamb in his haste to get inside and almost tripping over a neat row of empty flower pots. It’s quiet and warm inside, and there’s a man standing behind the counter, wrapping bunches of orange tulips in tissue paper. Howon runs a hand through his hair to make sure it’s not a complete mess before walking up to him.

“Hi,” he says. “I know it’s late, but, uh. I really need some flowers.”

The man smiles brightly at him. “You’ve come to the right place, then. I’m Nam Woohyun,” he says, and up close Howon can see he’s wearing a name tag on his chest, shaped like a sunflower. “I’ll be happy to help you. Do you have any idea of what you want?”

Howon stares at him for a moment, then looks around for inspiration. There are jars with cut flowers lining one of the walls, and more plants than Howon’s ever seen in one place before, but he still feels completely out of his depth. He opens his mouth to reply, closes it.

“Are you looking for a present?” Woohyun asks him, somehow understanding what’s going on in Howon’s head. His smile softens when Howon nods. “I can make a bouquet for you,” he says. “Unless you’d rather buy something different? We got a batch of beautiful orchids this morning.”

“A bouquet is fine,” Howon hurries to answer, a wave of relief washing over him. “Nothing too big or complicated, just—that’d be okay. Thank you.”

“Any particular flower combinations?”

“I don’t—” Howon starts, blinking at him. “What?”

Woohyun doesn’t miss a beat. “What’s your favorite color?” he asks.

“Purple,” Howon replies.

“Good,” Woohyun says thoughtfully, tapping a quick pattern on the desk. “I can definitely work with that.”

There aren’t any purple flowers left in the store as far as Howon can see, but Woohyun asks him to wait a moment and then walks through a door hidden behind the counter—the back room, Howon supposes. He’s gone for a while, and Howon uses the time to loosen his tie and check his phone again.

Woohyun comes back with his hands full of roses—a few of them pale pink, the others cream-colored—and some sort of dark purple flowers Howon doesn’t recognize, all of them already arranged and tied up together. It looks simple but beautiful, and Howon can’t help the smile that tugs at his mouth, especially when Woohyun sees it and beams back at him, clearly pleased with himself.

“What do you think?” Woohyun asks, placing the bouquet carefully on the counter.

“That’s more than I’d hoped for,” Howon admits.

Woohyun starts laughing. “You shouldn’t have doubted my talent,” he says. “Obviously.”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Howon repeats. He touches one of the purple flowers with the tips of his fingers, as gently as he can. “Thank you, Woohyun-ssi,” he says earnestly, hoping Woohyun can tell he really means it.

He pays for the flowers and settles them in the crook of his elbow, where they look vibrant and alive against the dark grey of his jacket. Woohyun waves him away when Howon thanks him again, but Howon doesn’t miss the way his eyes light up, bright and happy. He’s about to step outside when he pauses, turning around.

“Woohyun-ssi,” he calls. “What’s the name of these flowers? Not the roses—the purple ones.”

“Lisianthus,” Woohyun replies. “Sometimes they’re called gentians, too.”

Howon smiles, nodding back at him. “I won’t forget,” he says.

 

\---

 

The second time Howon goes to the flower shop there are two middle-aged women gathered at the counter, and Sungjong’s showing them chrysanthemums in different colors. Woohyun is behind him, talking on the phone with his back to the shop; he turns when he hears the door open, flashing a smile at Howon over his shoulder. The women leave a few minutes later, one of them carrying a bundle of wine-red flowers. Sungjong straightens up the desk quickly, pushing his hair back. There’s a hint of recognition when he looks at Howon, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.

“Welcome back,” he greets Howon. “I’m Lee Sungjong.”

“He can see that, Sungjongie,” Woohyun says suddenly, putting down the phone and reaching around Sungjong to tug at his apron, making his name tag jiggle and catch the light. Sungjong frowns at him, taking a step back.

“You also introduced yourself last time, Woohyun-ssi,” Howon reminds him.

“I did,” Woohyun replies, apparently unfazed by the way Sungjong’s frown turns into a smirk. “But I’m the owner, I’m supposed to give a good impression to my customers.”

“Oh, so that’s what you were trying to do?” Howon says dryly, unable to keep himself from teasing him. He wonders if he’s gone too far, but Woohyun seems positively delighted.

“Trying to?” he replies, pouting as if Howon has truly offended him. His eyes narrow mischievously a second later, though, like he’s sure he’s holding all the winning cards in his hand. “You _loved_ the flowers I picked for you.”

“I did,” Howon agrees easily. He finds out he doesn’t mind admitting Woohyun is right, and he definitely likes the way Woohyun’s face opens up in a wide smile in response. Howon feels his ears heat up a little. “I’m here to get a plant, in fact,” he explains before he loses track of the conversation—he suspects it could happen very easily, with the way Woohyun’s looking at him. He clears his throat. “Another present, actually.”

“For your girlfriend?” Sungjong asks, leaning his elbows on the counter. Howon starts, feeling a little guilty when he realizes he had forgotten about him. The knowing look on Sungjong’s face doesn’t help.

“No, it’s—” Howon begins. “My mom is visiting this weekend,” he says, a little shyly.

The corners of Sungjong’s mouth twitch. He turns to Woohyun, a sunny smile on his face. “I’m going to the back room, hyung,” he says. “There’s still a lot left to unwrap, right? Yell if you need me.”

“Hey, Sungjong-ah. _Sungjong-ah_ ,” Woohyun calls after him. When he looks at Howon again his cheeks are a little pink. “Sorry,” he says, “Sungjongie and I’ve known each other for a long time so it’s—kind of like that, always.”

“It’s fine,” Howon says, smiling at him. “Can you help me to pick something, then?” he asks. “The bouquet you made for me was great.”

Woohyun ducks his head. “Thank you,” he replies. “I know it’s my job but. I’m glad.”

“My friend really loved it too,” Howon adds. “She’d had a baby that day, you know? One week earlier than planned.” He chuckles, thinking about Eunji’s disgruntled pout when he finally got to her hospital room, and how it melted into exasperated fondness after he handed her the flowers. “She said it was obvious I hadn’t chosen it, but that the purple was a nice touch.”

“I can see why you were in such a rush that day,” Woohyun says, and then, softer, he repeats, “I’m glad.”

“So, uh, do you have any recommendations?” Howon asks after a moment.

Woohyun seems to straighten his back. “You said it’s for your mother, right?” He tilts his head when Howon nods. “Even though I think it’s safe to assume you don’t know a lot about plants, you must have an idea of what she likes?” He walks from behind the counter, gesturing at Howon to follow him.

Once again, there are so many different choices that Howon hesitates, looking from one plant to another while Woohyun says their names and shares tips on how to take care of them. They walk among ferns and spider plants, clivias and pots of ivy that hang from the ceiling of the store. Howon knows for sure he wants something with flowers, and he finally spots one that catches his eye, half hidden behind two other pots.

“That one,” he says, stopping Woohyun mid sentence and pointing at the plant. “I think my mom used to have one of those. Actually—I’m pretty sure my brother and I ruined it.” Woohyun starts laughing. “It was an accident!” Howon adds hastily. “We were playing ball and—”

“Of course, of course,” Woohyun cuts him off, already bending forward to grab the plant and move it closer to them. Howon opens his mouth to protest, but his eyes get caught in the curve of Woohyun’s trim waist, the shift of his shoulders when he lifts the heavy pot from the floor. “This one, right?” Woohyun says, setting the plant in front of Howon. 

“Yeah,” Howon replies, swallowing hard. It has bright white flowers shaped like the tip of a spear, just like he remembers.

“It’s a spathiphyllum—a peace lily.” Woohyun looks down at it with something akin to pride. “And a big, beautiful one. I hope you’ve parked your car close to the store,” he chuckles.

“Oh, I always walk to work,” Howon says distractedly, trying to lift the peace lily himself and testing his grip around it. It’s not light by any means, but he’s sure he can manage to carry it back to the bus stop—and his apartment—without any problems. “It’s fine,” he rushes to add when he sees Woohyun’s raised eyebrows. “I mean—I take the bus and then walk the rest of the way. I really don’t mind that it’s a little heavy. And my mom will love it for sure.”

“I hope you don’t make her carry this monster,” Woohyun says, shaking his head and taking the plant from Howon’s arms. He walks back to the counter, Howon trailing behind.

“My little brother is coming up from Busan, too,” he explains.

“Ah, I see,” Woohyun says. “Little brothers are good for that.”

“Do you have one?”

“No,” Woohyun replies. He smiles, crooked and self deprecating. “I’m the little brother.”

It startles a snort out of Howon. “Well, I’m stuck in the middle,” he says. 

Woohyun chooses a piece of pale silver paper, bends under the desk and comes up with a length of shiny white ribbon in his hand a moment later. He clears a section of the counter and begins to wrap the spathiphyllum, his movements quick and sure. 

“You know,” he says, “I think it’s sweet you’ve picked this plant for your mother.”

“What do you mean?” Howon says.

“It’s nothing, but—” Woohyun pauses, using the blade of his scissors to curl the ends of the ribbon. “The meaning of this plant is all about protecting someone who’s dear to you.” He bites his bottom lip. “It just seems fitting.”

“Oh,” Howon breathes. 

He doesn’t really know how to reply, and Woohyun doesn’t add anything else either. The silence is not awkward but it feels weirdly charged. Howon hands Woohyun a couple of bills, trying not to fidget while Woohyun counts the change and gives it to him together with the receipt.

“Thank you for coming again,” Woohyun says, tugging at the ribbon one last time before he lets Howon take the plant. His smile looks a little tentative. “I really hope your mother likes it. Listen, Howon-ssi, do you—”

The door opens, cutting Woohyun off mid sentence, and a man wearing blue overalls steps in, asking for the owner. There’s a brief moment of chaos while Woohyun gets Sungjong back behind the counter, and then he’s following the man outside, with barely enough time to wave goodbye at Howon and thank him again. There’s no reason for Howon to linger in the store any longer so he leaves shortly afterwards, bowing to Sungjong and making sure he isn't squashing the peace lily.

Carrying the plant is trickier than Howon was expecting, as it’s not only heavy but also takes a lot of space, its long leaves getting in front of his face and into his hair. He does manage to reach his stop with only two brief breaks to readjust it, though, and then it's just a matter of putting on his best smile so the driver lets him take it into the bus. Howon even finds a seat with enough space to keep the plant in front of him; he takes it with a relieved sigh, pressing his feet tightly against the sides of the pot to keep it steady. The bus is quiet and the trip uneventful, and it isn't until Howon is two stops away from his apartment that he realizes Woohyun had called him by his name.

 

\---

 

March begins with a string of cold, rainy days, the sky covered in dark clouds that loom heavily over the city. Howon finishes one of his projects at the tail end of the first week, then takes on another one immediately afterwards. He keeps going home late more days than not, still walking by Woohyun’s store every day. Even though Howon doesn’t go in again he sees Woohyun from time to time—early in the morning while Woohyun’s checking the deliveries, or whenever Howon’s coworkers convince him to have lunch at the curry place that’s in the same block as the flower shop. Woohyun always has a smile for him, but they never really get to talk past pleasantries. Howon still wonders how Woohyun knew his name, but it’s not as if he can just go up to him and _ask_.

The weather worsens as the month draws on, harsh thunderstorms paired with biting gusts of wind that always threaten to tear Howon’s umbrella off his hands. The inevitable ends up happening one late evening—there’s a sudden snap when the ribs of the umbrella bend past their breaking point and then Howon is left holding a useless bundle of twisted metal and torn fabric, the rain falling hard onto him. His first reaction is to start running, trying to get to the bus stop as fast as he can, but he realizes he’s seriously underestimated the force of the storm when he can barely see through the water sliding down his face. Howon somehow registers that the lights of Woohyun’s store are still on, and he stumbles towards it. The door handle turns under his cold, slippery fingers, even though he’s positive it’s way past the closing time, and he rushes in, gasping when the warm air of the place hits his skin.

“I’m sorry, we’re already—oh, _fuck_.” Howon glances up to see Woohyun walking towards him, a mix of surprise and worry in his eyes as he looks Howon up and down. Woohyun stops a step or two away from him, his hands hovering mid air as if he wants to reach out for Howon but isn’t sure whether he should. “What the hell happened to you?”

Despite everything, Howon can’t help smiling at how startled Woohyun seems to be, the way he keeps cursing without seeming to be aware he's doing it. “The weather happened to me. After it happened to my umbrella,” he replies, gesturing at it, broken beyond repair. Howon shrugs. “And why was your door still unlocked?” he asks back. “Anyone could’ve got in if they’d wanted to.”

Of all the possible responses, he isn’t expecting Woohyun to burst into laughter. “ _Sorry_ ,” Woohyun breathes, unable to stop chuckling. “I can tell that that was supposed to be like, a serious warning or something, but _look at you_.” He finally manages to calm down a little, although he keeps grinning. “You’re a _mess_.”

“Thank you,” Howon says drily, “I’m aware.” He realizes there’s already a puddle on the floor around his feet, and he grimaces down at it. “Look, I’m actually really sorry I just barged in like this, but could I stay here for a bit? Just until the rain dies down a little.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Woohyun tells him, both his voice and eyes softer than before. It makes something warm and pleasant curl up in Howon’s belly, and his ears feel too hot all of a sudden. Thankfully Woohyun doesn’t seem to notice, too busy fiddling with a handful of keys. “Seems like Sungjongie forgot to lock when he left,” he complains, “ _again_.” When he turns around he rests his hand briefly on Howon’s elbow. “C’mon, you can’t be comfortable, soaked like that.”

“What—?”

“If you wanna wait you can do it upstairs,” Woohyun says. “My apartment is there. You can take a shower and change into something dry. Hell, you can even stay for dinner if the storm’s still going on by then.”

There’s a pause, and Howon can only hear the rain falling heavily outside, the drip of his sodden clothes, the whisper of the heating system. He could say no, he knows—they are basically strangers, and Howon doesn’t think Woohyun would try to force him to accept his offer. But the thing is, Howon _wants_ to stay. He’s been wanting to talk to Woohyun for a while, after all, and this is probably the best chance he’ll get.

“Okay,” he says, “thank you, Woohyun-ssi.”

Howon’s shoes squish while he follows Woohyun through the back room door and up to his place. His hair feels cold, plastered to his scalp, and his pants cling uncomfortably to his legs. Woohyun presses the code at the door and shoulders it open, switching the lights on and letting Howon get in. It’s a relief to be able to finally step out of his shoes and take off his wet socks. Howon rubs his feet dry with the small towel Woohyun hands him, and can’t help sighing contentedly when he slips them into clean, soft slippers. Woohyun looks at him with a little, amused smile while he leads him into the apartment.

“Give me a second,” he says, leaving Howon alone in the bathroom. It sort of reminds him of the day they met, waiting at the store while Woohyun was getting his flowers ready.

Howon slips out of his coat and jacket and lays them onto the sink, careful that they don’t make a mess on Woohyun’s floor. His tie and belt end up on top of his clothes, and he’s unbuttoning his shirt, the cuffs undone around his wrists, when Woohyun comes back, carrying dry clothes and one of the fluffiest towels Howon’s ever seen.

“Everything should fit, I think,” Woohyun says. “Feel free to take your time and use anything, I’ll be in the kitchen. You like salmon, right?”

“Yes?” Howon replies. “But you don’t have to—”

“I know that, Howon-ssi,” Woohyun cuts him off, and oh, there goes Howon’s name again. “It’s fine, honestly. Besides,” he adds with a lopsided smile, verging on too cocky, “now that you’re here you can’t leave without tasting my food. That’d be an actual crime.”

“That confident, huh?” Howon says, a grin pulling at his lips too.

“What can I say?” Woohyun shrugs. “I’m just telling the truth.”

“Well, you talk a lot, that much is true,” Howon replies. He realizes with a start that he could spend the whole evening just like this, bantering with Woohyun and throwing good-natured jabs back and forth. It’s startling, how easily they’ve fallen in step, how comfortable Howon feels even though it’s only the third time he’s talked to Woohyun for longer than a few minutes. He clears his throat. “You should put your money where your mouth is instead, Woohyun-ssi.”

Woohyun’s eyes _gleam_ , and for a dizzying moment Howon swears Woohyun glances down at his lips. “I’ll do that,” Woohyun says before he walks away again.

The shower is a little narrower than the one in Howon’s apartment, but the water pressure feels incredibly nice when he tests it on his wrist, adjusting the temperature before he steps in. Howon doesn’t linger, not wanting to overstep Woohyun’s kindness. He lathers his hair quickly and wraps himself in the towel Woohyun lent him as soon as he’s done rinsing the soap and the remains of the cold rainwater off his skin. It feels as soft as it looks, and Howon hums under his breath, sorting out the little pile of clothes and putting on the boxers and the thick wool socks first. There’s also a pair of dark gray sweatpants, a t-shirt, a faded orange hoodie. Howon runs a hand through his damp bangs after he finishes getting dressed. The apartment is pleasantly warm, and something smells so nice his stomach starts growling.

“Oh, you’re done already,” Woohyun says, turning to smile at him when Howon walks into the kitchen. He has changed out of his work clothes, too, and looks completely at home, chopping up green onions and adding vinegar to a pot where something is bubbling gently. “You can leave that towel there, by the washing machine,” Woohyun adds, gesturing at his right. “Do you need to put your suit in the dryer?”

Howon shakes his head. “I’ll deal with it when I get home,” he says. “You’ve done enough.”

“It’s not as if I was going to let you drown in the street,” Woohyun mumbles, ducking his head and focussing on the frying pan. Howon smiles at his back.

Dinner is fairly simple but actually delicious—plain rice, vegetable pancakes, and some salmon simmered in broth, fragrant with ginger. Howon can’t hide how much he loves every single bite of it, and he isn’t even bothered by Woohyun’s obviously smug, triumphant expression. 

“Should’ve known you’d be a sore winner,” Howon says, but not before he picks another piece of pancake and places it safely into his own plate. His own cooking abilities are shaky at their best, but he knows how to appreciate a good meal. 

“I’m not the one who doubted me. Again.” Woohyun taps his chopsticks against his bottom lip. He looks away, and for a brief moment Howon can see a shadow of self doubt underneath the bravado. “It’s not a lot,” Woohyun says, softly, “but. I’m glad you like it.”

“Everything’s really good,” Howon says, and he really means it. “Thank you.”

The storm is still going on strong outside when they finish eating, so Howon helps clearing out the table while Woohyun heats up some water to make tea. Objectively speaking, he’s aware he could call a cab to get back home; in fact, it’s late enough he’ll probably have to do that whether it stops raining or not. At this point, the weather is just an excuse so he can stay for a little longer.

“Here you go,” Woohyun says, pressing a hot mug into his hands. Howon inhales deeply; he recognizes the smell right away.

When he was a kid one of their neighbors had a couple of yuja trees in their backyard. Sometimes they would share part of their harvest with his parents, and Howon remembers his mom, slicing fresh yuja fruits in the kitchen and mixing them with sugar to make tea. Woohyun’s doesn’t taste the same, not exactly, but Howon finds himself settling a little more comfortably into the pillow, the warmth from the tea spreading steadily from his belly outwards. 

“I should get going,” he says after a while. It sounds more reluctant than he expected.

Woohyun smiles, not looking up from his own mug. “I’ll get you a bag for your clothes,” he says. “Do you need an umbrella, too?”

“I don’t think so,” Howon replies. “I’ll call someone to come pick me up.”

“You should’ve done that from the beginning, Howon-ssi,” Woohyun chides him. “It’s not like—”

“How do you even know my name?” Howon blurts, cutting him off.

“Oh.” Woohyun blinks. He purses his lips, takes a long sip of tea. “Well, this is a small neighborhood, after all. Gossip goes around very fast.”

“Gossip,” Howon says, taken aback. “Wait, people talk about _me_?”

“You’re _really_ underestimating how popular you are among women of a certain age,” Woohyun laughs. He takes a deep breath, folding his legs under himself and straightening his back. “Aigoo, Namu-yah,” he says, pitching his voice so it sounds breathy and a few notches higher. “Didn’t our Howonie come by your store yesterday? He’s finally got a special girl for himself, yes? He wouldn’t get all those beautiful flowers just for anyone, don’t you think?”

Howon’s ears burn. “Fuck, who was that supposed to be?” he asks, suddenly feeling like he’s seventeen again and being interrogated about his love life by every well meaning person in Busan. “And why’d they assume I had a girlfriend?”

“That was Mrs. Choi from the bookstore,” Woohyun replies calmly, even though he’s clearly amused by the whole thing. “Also, you’re aware your friend had her baby on Valentine’s Day, right? Mrs. Park from the apartment next door actually came to the store the next day to say she couldn’t believe you’d be the type to forget an important date like that and buy a present at the very last second. Well. Technically she came to get a hoya for her niece, but that was just a cover.”

“I wouldn’t forget Valentine’s Day, if it was important for whoever I was dating,” Howon protests. “Also, what the fuck.”

Woohyun shrugs. “I told her it wasn’t any of my business, nor hers,” he says, like it’s nothing. “And for the record, you do seem the type to remember that kind of stuff.”

“You don’t really know that,” Howon says. His ears still feel too hot, but now it’s for an entirely different reason.

“Maybe I don’t,” Woohyun concedes. “But guys who forget their anniversaries or whatever usually look guilty as fuck and then ask for red roses, the boring idiots. You just seemed to be very lost and flustered. It was kind of cute, to tell you the truth.”

 _Fuck_ , Howon thinks. “Uh—thank you?” he says.

Woohyun shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m tired and my brain to mouth filter is nonexistent right now,” he apologizes with a rueful smile. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

 _You didn’t_ , Howon wants to tell him. “I’m sorry for keeping you up,” he says instead. “Thanks for having me over.”

He drinks the last swallows of tea and calls a cab, gathering up all of his things while he waits for it. Woohyun walks him to the door; he pulls it open and then pauses, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sweater.

“I’ll stop by in a day or two to give you back your clothes,” Howon tells him.

“That’s fine,” Woohyun says. “Have a good night, Howon-ssi.”

“You too.”

Howon’s halfway down the stairs when he turns around. Woohyun’s still standing by the door of his apartment, watching him go. Somehow, it doesn’t really come as a surprise. “You know how to cook other dishes, right? Or was the dinner today just a fluke?” He doesn’t even know why he says that, until he sees Woohyun’s eyes crinkle into a grin.

“That’s for me to know,” Woohyun replies, his voice echoing in the landing. “And for you to keep guessing.”

Howon can’t stop smiling to himself all the way to his own place.

 

\---

 

“Woohyun hyung isn’t here today,” Sungjong says after he greets Howon, glancing at the paper bag he’s holding. “Do you want me to give him that?”

“Please,” Howon replies, even though a part of him wishes he could have returned the clothes personally. “Can I borrow a pen, first? I’ll write him a note.”

Sungjong stares at him intently while he jots down a quick message, trying to keep his handwriting as neat as possible. He’s about to hand the pen back when Sungjong asks, “so—Are you two friends now?”

“I guess we are,” Howon replies. “I mean, I know we’ve only talked a few times—”

“Yeah,” Sungjong cuts in, “that’s why I’m asking.”

Howon raises his eyebrows. “Should I be worried?”

“I’m just surprised,” Sungjong says, sounding sincere. “Despite how outgoing he might seem to be with our customers, Woohyun hyung doesn’t really warm up to strangers that fast. But he even cooked you dinner, from what I’ve heard.”

“He did,” Howon agrees. “He helped me a lot every time I came here to get flowers, but he really went beyond that with the food and the clothes. And that’s why I’m thanking him again.” He signs and folds the note, slipping it into the pocket of Woohyun’s hoodie. “Is that good enough gossip for you, Sungjong-ssi?”

Sungjong takes the bag, his mouth tilting up into a smile that looks extremely smug and pleased. Somehow, Howon feels like he’s passed a test. “I’ll make sure Woohyun hyung knows you stopped by today,” Sungjong says brightly. “You should come again, though. Maybe even think about buying something for yourself, the next time. We have really lovely plants, as I’m sure you already know.”

Howon snorts. “To be honest, I don’t think I could live with a murder on my conscience.”

Even so, a few days later he catches himself looking at the sunny spot in his living room, thinking about how a plant would liven up the place. His apartment isn’t the biggest in Seoul, but it has a decent amount of light and Howon keeps it tidy and clean enough. Taking care of a plant wouldn’t be more difficult than looking after a pet, after all, and Howon has dogsat for Dongwoo enough times to know he’s capable of handling that much.

He waits until his next day off to go back to the store. This time Woohyun is inside, watering the plants and carefully plucking dead leaves from a couple of anthuriums. A fine mist hangs in the air, curling the ends of Woohyun’s hair and sticking them to his temples.

“Welcome,” he says, his face lighting up when he sees Howon. “I got your note.”

Howon pauses before walking closer, struck dumb by how lovely Woohyun looks. Neither the hammering in his chest nor the butterflies in his belly feel like a revelation—only like the natural conclusion of a series of events that started the morning Howon found his way to the office blocked by a pile of black crates. For a moment he can’t even remember what he wrote in the note, but it couldn’t have been that bad if Woohyun’s staring at him like _this_.

“So how can I help you today?” Woohyun asks, dusting his apron. “Are you looking for another present, maybe? Or is this just a courtesy call?”

“No, I’m here for business,” Howon says with a crooked smile. “But it’s not a present, this time. I’ve been thinking about getting something for myself. I’m no expert, though, so—something like this, maybe?” He points to a short bush-like plant with delicate white flowers.

“I wouldn’t recommend gardenias to a beginner,” Woohyun says, leading Howon towards a row of small leafy plants. “Ferns are a much safer choice, though.”

Howon looks at them doubtfully. “They are very… green?”

“Green’s pretty much the standard, yes,” Woohyun replies, sounding amused.

“I mean, I’d like something brighter, with flowers or—” he gestures towards some plants with boldly colored leaves. “Those are also nice.”

“Sure, caladiums and crotons are both very beautiful,” Woohyun says. “Unfortunately they are also pretty hard to take care of.”

“Well, I’m obviously great at this,” Howon says wryly.

“You’ll find something,” Woohyun reassures him. “Annual plants are great for inexperienced gardeners, but they won’t live longer than a year, so if that’s a problem I can suggest something different?”

“I—yes, please.”

Woohyun nods. “Then there are other choices that could be good, but I’m pretty sure you’d find them boring, too—Don’t make that face, I know you were trying to be diplomatic about the ferns.”

“I’m not making a face,” Howon says.

“Of course you aren’t,” Woohyun replies easily, bumping lightly against Howon’s side. His bottom lip looks really soft up close. “So how do you feel about cacti?”

“Cacti?” Howon repeats, dragging his eyes off Woohyun’s mouth and down to the plants again.

“They can live for a long time, as long as they have plenty of light and you only water them once every few weeks or so.”

“They aren’t what I had in mind, to be honest,” Howon says. Cacti are cute in their own, thorny way, he supposes, but he knows they aren’t what he’s looking for.

“Ah, I see.” Howon thinks Woohyun looks weirdly disappointed for a second, but a moment later he’s as smiley as before. “Well, in that case you could get a kalanchoe,” Woohyun says. “They don’t need that much water either, and you’ll probably find them prettier.”

They _are_ pretty plants, and Howon ends up choosing one with lots of tiny red flowers shaped like four-point stars. Woohyun gives him some advice on how to take care of it, all pretty straightforward stuff about lighting and fertilizer and transplanting it over the next winter.

“Does this plant have a meaning too?” Howon asks him, thinking about his mom's peace lily. _Protecting someone who’s dear to you_ , Woohyun had told him, and, _it just seems fitting_.

Now, Woohyun stares at him like a deer caught in the headlights, like he wasn’t expecting the question at all, and a faint blush spreads over his cheeks and down to his neck. “Love and affection,” he finally says, not looking away from Howon, and—

 _Oh_.

There are a number of things Howon could say or do to cut through the tension growing between them, but then the door opens and more customers walk in, and Woohyun’s soft, private look turns into something more neutral, if still welcoming. So instead of saying or doing any of those things, Howon takes his new plant—and an extra pot, a bottle of liquid vitamins, and a small bag of soil—and says goodbye to Woohyun as if they were just two guys who happen to work in the same neighborhood and see each other purely by chance.

Later, back at his apartment, Howon discovers a surprise at the bottom of his bag of gardening supplies—a cactus, round and small enough to fit into his cupped palm, carefully hidden inside the blue plastic pot.

 

\---

 

It’s another late evening after work, and the rain falls with a sweet, gentle murmur on Howon’s umbrella. 

“I’m starting to think this place’s never actually closed,” he says.

Woohyun’s smile is the soft one he’s been giving Howon for the last few weeks, since Howon bought the kalanchoe. “Pot, meet kettle,” he replies, leaning against the door frame. “How many extra hours have you clocked today, Howon-ah?”

The informal treatment rolls off Woohyun’s tongue easily, startling a pleased chuckle out of Howon. “Way too many,” he admits. Then, before he can talk himself out of it, he asks, “were you waiting for me?”

“And why would I do that?” Woohyun’s voice is light and teasing; his eyes are not. He tilts his head to the side. “Do you want to come upstairs for a drink?”

“Yeah,” Howon says, “let’s do that.”

This time he follows Woohyun directly into the kitchen, offering his help when it becomes obvious that Woohyun plans to cook again. Five minutes later they are standing side by side, Howon cutting chicken thighs in bite-size pieces to make buldak while Woohyun stirs the ingredients for the sauce in a bowl. There’s something comfortable and practiced in the way Woohyun handles the knife when he minces ginger and garlic together, in how he adds spoonfuls of red pepper paste and soy sauce and oil to the mix with barely a glance, like it’s second nature.

“You’re really good at this,” Howon says, taking in the little flicks of Woohyun’s wrists, the sinewy strength of his bare forearms.

“My older brother has a restaurant,” Woohyun explains, reaching out to grab the chicken and add it to the bowl. “I worked there for a couple of years, after—” He pauses, stepping around Howon and walking towards the stove. “I used to play soccer, but then I got hurt and had to retire. Shoulder injury.” The chicken goes into a cast-iron pan, and Woohyun uses a little bit of water to rinse what’s left of the sauce off the bowl. He adds that to the pan, too. “I went to college and started studying physical therapy after that, figured I’d do something I could relate to sports, somehow. That didn’t work out the way I wanted, though.”

“You played professionally?” Howon asks, surprised.

“Yeah,” Woohyun replies, switching on the burner to high and covering the pan. “I was a forward for the Bluewings.”

Howon stares at him. “You played in the _K League_?”

“It was years ago,” Woohyun says, blushing, “and only for a few seasons. It isn’t that big of a deal, honestly.”

“So why the store? How did you end up here?”

“I grew up in this neighborhood; the store used to belong to one of my great aunts,” Woohyun replies. He takes the lid off to stir the chicken, checks the time on his phone, and turns down the heat. “I like it here, and I like my job.” His voice goes very soft. “I like being able to make people happy.”

 _I know it’s my job but. I’m glad_ , Woohyun had said, months ago. “That makes sense,” Howon replies. He reaches out, curls his fingers around Woohyun’s arm and squeezes it gently.

“Okay, this is ready,” Woohyun says after a moment. “What do you think?”

Howon looks at the pan over Woohyun’s shoulder. “Cheese?” he asks hopefully.

“Alright, alright,” Woohyun laughs. “Let me go get it, then.”

Woohyun tops the chicken with an improbable amount of mozzarella, smiling indulgently at Howon as he does so, and then places it under the grill until it melts and goes all bubbly and gooey. Howon helps him set the table, carrying paper towels and spoons and chopsticks to the living room while Woohyun sets the buldak on a hot pad and goes back to the kitchen to get their drinks.

“Cheers,” Woohyun says, pouring soju into two small glasses and handing one to Howon. It's cold, and it goes slick with condensation under his fingers. “C’mon, let’s eat while it’s still hot.”

After his first experience with Woohyun’s cooking Howon expects the chicken to be good, and it doesn’t disappoint. He had taken his tie and jacket off and rolled up his shirt sleeves when they got to the apartment, but now Howon has to undo the first button of his collar, and then the next one too. He chases away the pleasant burn of the food with long swallows of soju, and Woohyun makes sure that their glasses are never empty, his cheeks getting redder and redder as he tries to match Howon’s pace.

“What about you?” he asks suddenly. This time he only refills Howon’s glass, shaking his head when Howon attempts to take the bottle from him and return the favor. ”No, no, let me take a break or I’ll be completely useless. Of course you’re a good drinker.”

“Are you that surprised?”

“Not in the slightest,” Woohyun replies. “But stop trying to distract me. How did you end up here?”

“Well, you invited me in.” It’s not a particularly witty comeback, but Woohyun chuckles around his mouthful, a smudge of sauce caught on one corner of his lips. Howon downs his drink, holds out the glass for another. “I wanted to dance. Professionally, I mean,” he says. “But one of my ankles wasn’t strong enough for me to go pro—not that it stopped me from trying.” The next piece of chicken is too hot on his tongue, making him wince. “In the end I ended up doing something completely different—architecture, actually. I’m still kind of a newbie at my current job, even after two years there, and I don’t get to do much design work yet but—” Howon smiles. “It’s good. And I’m still able to dance with my friends over the weekends. So it’s not what I dreamed as a kid, but it’s not a bad compromise either.”

“I get that,” Woohyun says, pouring soju again. “You’re still a long way from Busan,” he adds, his voice carefully light.

“Yeah,” Howon agrees. He takes another bite of food. “I think that’s a story for another day, though.”

“That’s fair,” Woohyun says, lowering his head slightly. “But, for what is worth—” he looks up at Howon again— “I’d like to hear that story— _any_ story of yours—whenever you feel like sharing it.”

After that Woohyun steers the conversation away from overly personal topics, so skillfully that Howon barely realizes what he’s done until he finds himself laughing along a joke involving one of Woohyun’s former teammates. He talks about the store again, too, and as much as Howon has seen Woohyun tease Sungjong before, there’s real warmth and pride in his voice when he tells Howon about him, like Sungjong’s his own treasured little brother. When Howon’s the one speaking Woohyun stares at him over the brim of his glass, smacking his lips in satisfaction after he finishes the last drops of soju. They are sitting at opposite sides of the low table, but his feet end up wedged under Howon’s shin, warm and solid; his toes twitch when he leans back against the side of the couch, the length of his throat flushed all over. Howon’s pulse thrums, and he wonders how the heat of Woohyun’s blush would feel, if he were to touch him. He actually loses track of the time, too caught up in the cadence of Woohyun’s voice and the wet shine of his mouth, until his phone buzzes with an email a few hours after they started eating.

“Here, let me help you clear this up,” he tells Woohyun, unfolding himself from the floor and picking up their empty dishes to carry them to the sink.

Howon’s walking back from the kitchen when Woohyun catches up with him, tangling one hand on his shirt and tugging him close without a word—close enough that their foreheads press together and their noses slide against each other, their mouths only a breath apart. Woohyun’s eyes are very dark behind his half-lowered lashes. Neither of them pull away nor move any closer, until the air between them feels thick and charged, and Howon can almost taste Woohyun’s lips on his own even though they aren’t quite touching. He shivers, liquid heat pooling low in his belly. His hands curl over the waistband of Woohyun’s jeans, his thumbs slipping under the hem of Woohyun’s hoodie and making him gasp.

“Howon-ah.” Woohyun’s lips move around the shape of his name, barely brushing—so, so softly—against the corner of his mouth, and it’s like a jolt of electricity zinging all the way down Howon’s spine. “You—” Woohyun takes a shuddery breath. “Are you drunk?”

“Not really,” he murmurs back, tilting his head slightly to follow Woohyun’s mouth. Woohyun shifts with him to keep the sliver of distance separating them. Howon realizes that they are both panting. “Are you?”

“A little,” Woohyun admits, nuzzling against Howon’s cheek, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Do you—” Woohyun’s fingers slide under the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, along his clavicle, and Howon stutters. “Do you want me to leave?” he manages to finish.

“Honestly? _No_ ,” Woohyun replies fervently. His nails catch on Howon’s skin, but he finally pulls away a little, blinking slowly at Howon like he’s just woken up. “You probably should, though,” he adds, his voice low and rueful.

Howon takes a deep breath and grabs Woohyun’s wrist, lifting it to his mouth and pressing a kiss on his pulse point. Woohyun makes a noise that can only be described as a sob; he looks as lightheaded and overwhelmed as Howon feels. “Okay,” Howon says at last, stepping back. “I’ll stop by the store tomorrow. If that’s alright?”

“Fuck, that’s—It’s really, really fine,” Woohyun says. “But I’m not gonna be there this weekend. It’s—there’s just some family stuff I have to do, and I’m leaving tomorrow, first thing in the morning. That’s actually why—”

“Monday, then?” Howon asks. “After work?”

“Yeah,” Woohyun replies. His voice sounds wrecked, too low and hoarse. “Okay. Please.”

He walks Howon to the door, just like he did the first time, only he looks like a mess right now, as if they had done much more than not-quite-kissing. “Howonie,” he begins, when Howon turns to him to say goodnight, “I’m—”

“If that’s an apology then don’t,” Howon cuts him off gently. He reaches for Woohyun’s hands, holding them between his. “You’re fine and I—I’ll see you soon.”

The door of Woohyun’s apartment closes softly and Howon runs down the stairs and walks straight through to the main street, keeps walking ahead until his lungs burn and he stops feeling like he’s about to shake apart. He ends up hailing a cab ten blocks down the road, and by the time he gets back home he just flops down on his bed, completely exhausted.

There’s a blur of color next to his laptop when Howon wakes up in the morning. He frowns, rubbing the sleep off his eyes and reaching out for his glasses, his fingers feeling their way around the bedside table until they close over them. He puts them on, props himself up on his elbows to stare at his desk. Everything looks exactly like it should, except—

The cactus Woohyun gave him has bloomed overnight, and there are three flowers on top of it, all of them the same perfect shade of dark purple.

Howon looks at it, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest, and laughs, laughs, laughs.

 

\---

 

Woohyun’s watering one of the massive blue hydrangeas at the back, the pads of his fingers lingering on its leaves. As usual, it’s hot inside; Woohyun’s apron is dusty, as well as his hands, and his shirt is stuck to his back, damp with sweat.

“Hey,” Howon says, locking the door behind him.

“Hi,” Woohyun replies quietly. He’s not quite looking at Howon yet, his usual bright self turned down to something sweeter and unguarded now that there isn’t anyone else in the store but the two of them. “No overtime today?”

“Well, we made plans, right? I didn’t want to keep you waiting.” Howon hesitates. The flower pot he’s carrying feels much heavier than it should, for such a small thing. “I have something for you, actually,” he says.

“What are you—?” Woohyun’s eyes go very wide and startled. He takes one step forward, then another; Howon moves too, meeting him in the middle. “What’s this?” Woohyun says, starting to reach for the bright yellow flowers held close at Howon’s side. His hand stops just before touching them. “ _Howonie_.”

“Sungjong said it was almost too late in the season for this plant, so the flowers might wilt soon—sooner than I’d’ve liked, at least,” Howon explains, forcing his voice to stay even despite the hope bubbling up underneath his breastbone. “But this was the one I wanted to give you.”

“This one,” Woohyun says, slowly. “A calceolaria.”

“I—Well. I might have done some research and—” 

Woohyun kisses him.

His lips are plush and soft, and his left hand comes up to cup the side of Howon’s face and slide into his hair. Howon breathes out sharply—surprise, relief, exhilaration—and tilts his head to give him a better angle. Woohyun’s mouth moves slowly on his, all lingering, steady pressure, catching on Howon’s bottom lip and pulling back slightly to always, _always_ come back again. 

“You—” Woohyun breathes against the corner of his mouth. “ _Research_?” His next kiss is harder, sharper. “Are you _kidding me_?”

Howon beams at him, dazed. “Well, I got kissed thanks to my research, right?” he says. “So I’d say it was very successful.”

“You’re fucking _impossible_ ,” Woohyun says, his eyes very bright.

“I just—It had to be the right kind of plant, Woohyunie. I wanted you to _know_.”

Woohyun shakes his head. “I know,” he says, “I get it, I—Me too.” The curve of his smile widens. “I do, too.” He leans forward and licks into Howon’s mouth, his tongue a curl of heat sliding along Howon’s.

Over the next minutes Howon’s world narrows down to the feeling of Woohyun’s body pressed against his, the solid weight of his jaw and the slickness of his mouth. Woohyun kisses him with as much care and attention as Howon’s seen him pay to each and every plant in the store. He flicks his tongue against Howon’s upper lip, sucks and nibbles on his bottom one. Howon gives as good as he gets; there’s something immensely satisfying about the way Woohyun moans into his mouth when Howon’s sharp teeth pull on his lip and refuse to let it go. They don’t stop kissing, not until Howon’s hip bumps against something—the edge of the counter, he realizes hazily—and Woohyun pulls back with a soft gasp. Half-lidded eyes and red, swollen mouth, Howon decides, are a great look on him.

“Do you want to stay?” Woohyun asks, low and breathless. 

Howon nods, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together. He thinks about how fast the visits to Woohyun’s store had turned into part of his routine, how easy it had been to talk and banter with him. He follows Woohyun through the back door once again, their hands held together, and thinks about how he could also get used to having this in a heartbeat—not just quick smiles and greetings, but the full focus of Woohyun’s affection. 

But first things first. “If you cook again I don’t think I’ll leave afterwards,” he says when they are halfway to Woohyun’s place, tugging at his fingers.

Woohyun squeezes his hand, turns his head around to look at him. “What a coincidence,” he replies. “That's exactly what I want.”

**Author's Note:**

> The meaning of calceolarias (aka lady’s purses or pouch flowers; aka the plant Howon gives to Woohyun) is happiness, so they are considered a good present for an anniversary, or if someone wants to express their feelings for a loved one. The language of flowers obviously varies a lot from one culture to another; all the meanings mentioned in this fic were taken from a plant encyclopedia I have at home.
> 
> Reference pics: [lisianthus](http://41.media.tumblr.com/158e97a469bd475b5fa071eb7e183712/tumblr_o3skgrDESp1r5y2wdo3_1280.jpg), [peace lily](http://40.media.tumblr.com/c9ee48bae93404cb7e2285d8207b5b8c/tumblr_o3skgrDESp1r5y2wdo5_1280.jpg), [kalanchoe](http://36.media.tumblr.com/caebc25a821116c3c121aebda33c39cd/tumblr_o3skgrDESp1r5y2wdo1_1280.jpg), [calceolaria](http://36.media.tumblr.com/5ff8e61828a39b7e587ec65519b03b97/tumblr_o3skgrDESp1r5y2wdo4_1280.jpg).
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> \---
> 
> EDIT: please, check this [lovely fanart](https://twitter.com/takatsudon_art/status/757790489953181698).


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